


The Caretaker

by exquisitelymorose



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F, give us our girls back, they need to be together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 15:38:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17046311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exquisitelymorose/pseuds/exquisitelymorose
Summary: "Serena is suddenly looking down into the crease of her crossed arms, not wanting to make eye contact with the woman before her. Of course Bernie knows she cares for her, that she loves her deeply. But they’ve never really been that good with these sorts of emotional proclamations. When things get too emotional they have three tendencies. Fight, fuck or flee."Or, three things that drive Serena Campbell absolutely mad about Berenice Wolfe and how she rectifies them.





	The Caretaker

She can be downright cruel.

It’s never felt intentional. Not like it had been with Edward, a glint behind his eye that looked remarkably like those of a child winning a prize. No, with Bernie it sits low in her belly like the weak, twisted root of a tree sitting still between so many that are sturdier, unbending. And when the words leave her mouth, she feels that she’s lost. Never won. 

It only happens two, maybe three times and it gives Serena such a start, she’s unable to react. Usually she’s the one with her voice too loud and her words too mindless. Serena is the flame between the two of them, the one who can burn things up to mere ash, all heat and passion with a regretful reckless flair. Bernie is more the freezing undercurrent of a winding stream. Rushing past and away so quickly only to leave behind a chill that sets in your bones, cold and alone. 

But there have been nights, when Serena has too much wine pumping through her veins and when tension has been high on the AAU. When Bernie just wants to curl up on the couch with mindless television and very few words. Where the two of them have spent days being nothing more than co-leads who pass each other in the hallways and everything just feels shifted and out of place and… distant. 

Thats when her words become biting. Low and hissed. She’s provoked, Serena will admits that. Her Bernie, the one who decides to stay and work things out, she is nothing more than patient, kind, and understanding - almost too a fault. This one that bubbles up and to the surface when Serena is drunk and a little wicked, thats someone else. That’s the woman who spent years in canvas tents with men who offered little softness, zero comfort. It’s the Bernie who spent decades suffering inside a marriage that could be downright miserable, just two people in a battle of foul insults and unforgivable words, verbal lashings to try to make each other feel anything at all. 

So when she sees the pain behind those dark eyes after the words leave her thin lips, she knows its true. She knows the woman stood before her speaks from a pain that is only her own and has nothing to do with her. That she regrets ever tasting the words in her mouth. That unlike so many people who say it, Bernie really would do almost anything to take back anything unkind she’s ever said to Serena. But she never makes excuses, she simply stutters out apologies and leaves Serena be.

When night comes and the brunette finds her blonde partner running hands over her tired eyes in their bedroom, her stomach turns, her heart thuds.

“I will not be spoken to that way,” Serena says from the doorway, slow and steady but quiet and firm.

Bernies eyes whip up from where they’re trained on their thick duvet, looking utterly deflated and exhausted as she simply nods and swings her legs from under the sheets. Lines crinkle between Serenas eyes as she watches her love take her pillow into her arms and start for the doorway. 

“What’re you doing?” She finally asks, taking a step to block the doorway further.

The blonde looks to her with dark, red rimmed eyes, “I think I should take the couch tonight. Give you some space, Serena.”

“I don’t want space.”

“But-”

“You made a mistake. You feel badly, right?”

Bernie swallows, “yes.”

“You’re sorry?”

“Desperately.” 

“Then stay. I don’t want you to go.”

Serena moves towards her partner slowly and when she reaches her, runs a gentle hand from the top of Bernies pale, bare shoulder down to her wrist. With a reassuring glance, she squeezes her hand and sends her back to her side of the bed. When they’re both settled, the room quiet and dark, Serena moves on to her hip and looks to her lover. Pale light streams in from the window and plays against her features, her pointed nose and high cheekbones. She can see small patches of redness on her cheeks, the obvious sign of a Bernie cry. Her skin always betrays her. 

She can’t help but reach a hand over and run her fingertips over the fine, soft skin of her lovers cheek, down her neck, over her collar bones. Her words barely reaching over a whisper as Bernie shivers under her eyes, her fingers, her words.  
“I don’t want to be pulled into the spiral with you. I know that you hurt sometimes, Bernie. And I know that we all have moments,” she laughs, a small gravely sound before she continues, “no sense in pretending I haven’t been a miserable cow at times, myself. But when your words hurt, I can’t help you anymore. I can’t be the support you need when you’re hurt or tired, if you end up hurting me in the wake.”

Finally Bernies eyes flutter open, unshed tears swimming against dark brown as she clutches Serenas hand, pressing lips to her knuckles,

“I never meant to hur-”

“I know you didn’t, darling. I know.”

“I’ll be better.”

“I know you will. You just need to talk to me,” Serena falls silent for a moment as Bernie clutches her hand in both of hers, a little desperate, a little needy, “I’m here for you just as you are for me.”

The blonde shifts onto her hip and suddenly they’re nose to nose. She moves just slightly enough that the tips of their noses rub together and then her breath is ghosting over Serenas lips, mint toothpaste and whiskey. It’s an “I love you,” and an apology. They fall asleep like that, their hands clutched between them, resting against Bernies heart. 

—

God, she drives too fast. 

And she takes too long between meals to eat anything else. She never finishes her water bottles, despite knowing how dehydration will affect her and the nearly full vitamin bottles in her medicine cabinet could’ve expired years ago. She’s focused and intelligent, so intelligent. She cares deeply and spends so much time making sure that those around her are cared for that she ends up being reckless with herself.

Serena notices it in small ways before Elinor. But then it happens and Serena isn’t really Serena anymore. She’s not really there, she’s just kind of ghosting through her life and Bernie is there to pick up all the pieces. To make sure she’s fed, she’s watered, she’s washed. That she’s holding on even when she’s falling apart. For all intents and purposes, she is The Caretaker of life. And it isn’t until Serena begins to come back, in small fragments that make up a whole, that she realizes just how much her partner neglects herself. How little she seems to care.

She notices the granola bar and the yogurt she’d placed on Bernies desk go untouched for a half an hour. Then it’s an hour. When Serena comes back nearing the end of their shift, they’re both still there. She plucks the yogurt from the desk and tosses it in the bin. It’d be spoilt by this point. She gets to leave an hour before Bernie and when she arrives home, she actually cooks. It’s rare that either of them are able to find the time but they both have late shifts tomorrow so they can enjoy a proper evening in. Besides, Serena thinks, her partner will be starving. 

When she comes in the door with a huff and a flurry of blonde and pink fabric in Serenas favourites coat, the brunette can instantly tell that something is off. 

“What is it darling?” 

Bernie is muttering to herself, settling her bag on the floor and all but ignoring Serena.

“Bernie?”

“Yes?” She asks with a sigh, finally setting her eyes on her partner, face tired, hand rubbing at her lower back.

“Whats the matter?”

Bernie mutters something again, her bottom lip worrying between her teeth as she looks anywhere but her partner.

“I can’t hear you.”

“A bloody speeding ticket, Serena. Alright?” 

The blondes hands slap against her jean covered thighs as she lets out a huff. Serena can see in her face how pained she is to have to admit this, after all Serena’s warnings. After the many jabs made with nothing more than love and a teasing edge. And the “drive safe!” text messages and calls from the doorway. 

Serena simply lets a small hum pass her lips as she fixes Bernie with a stare and raises her wine glass to her lips. A pot simmers behind her and she sees the blonde rock onto one foot to see around her.

“Are you cooking dinner?”

“I am. Figured you’d be hungry.”

“Oh, wel-”

“Because I know for a fact that you haven’t eaten for hours, Berenice Wolf. And now, here you are, standing in our kitchen with a speeding ticket.”

The blondes eyebrows come together in sheer confusion and Serena knows that she’s having a hard time stitching those two thoughts together. But still she starts towards her, all slow long limbs and a quirked eyebrow.

“Is this about the granola bar on my desk? I’d meant to eat it, I just didn’t have the time, Serena.”

“And the yogurt! And the speeding ticket, I mean honest to God, how many times have I told you to slow down? You could hurt someone, Bernie.”

The taller woman swallows thickly, stopping short of reaching her partner, “I know that, I’m sorry.”

“And yourself. You could hurt yourself,” Serena nearly whispers, “and you never seem to consider that.” 

Serena is suddenly looking down into the crease of her crossed arms, not wanting to make eye contact with the woman before her. Of course Bernie knows she cares for her, that she loves her deeply. But they’ve never really been that good with these sorts of emotional proclamations. When things got too emotional they have three tendencies. Fight, fuck or flee. 

But then she feels strong fingers gently pulling her arms from her chest and Bernie is there, sturdy and present as ever. Eyes level, understanding, adoring. 

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Serena looks up into her girlfriends eyes, her unwavering gaze and tries to internalize those words, mark them on her brain.

“I know you worry,” Bernie drops Serenas arms to settle her hands firmly on the brunettes hips, “Because I don’t make it to every meal and because I speed sometimes but Serena,” and theres the half smirk, “sometimes I skip those meals to have a few extra moments just to walk with you and I speed because I want to get home to you. I know it’s foolish and I ought to be better but-”

Serena suddenly finds her lips on Bernies. She knows she must’ve been the one to move because the blonde had been mid-sentence but she still shocks and thrills at the feel of lips against hers. She shudders, the anger turning to caring and into longing through her limbs. She’s just happy she’s home, happy she’s safe. 

Happy she’s here. 

—

She doesn’t believe Serena.

When Serena tells her how beautiful she is, from across the room with just a look. Standing next to each other as they brush their teeth. Gasping it from overtop of her as her fingers skim the taut muscles of Bernies stomach, she see’s it. The embarrassed smile, the eyes that dart away, the face that screams, “I don’t believe you.” It’s enough to drive Serena into absolute madness some days. 

The long limbs, the blonde hair, the cheekbones and deep eyes. She is an attractive woman, its not an arguable statement. And she knows there are moments where Bernie believes it too. When they’re going out and she puts on a particularly nice outfit, something different from the everyday garb of hospital life. When she indulges in her femininity for a moment and applies the makeup that she mostly leaves at the bottom of the drawer. And yes, sometimes when her skin is slick as she moves over top of Serena. Sometimes she thinks she sees it then. 

But for the most part she knows how little Bernie considers her own beauty. And how often her praise falls on deaf ears. 

And it’s not that Bernie is insecure. No it’s not that, it’s just - that sort of attention, that longing, that passion directed toward her… the idea that a person could look at her and see more than a medic, a mother, a wife, or even a talented surgeon, it had never occurred to her. She was not a woman built for it. Not the type that believed she deserved a second glance. So when the focus comes from Serena, pointed and unwavering, especially in those first weeks of unadulterated lust, well it’s enough to make her crumble at times. 

They’ve been together for nearing a year when they find themselves strolling through shops and small boutiques together. Shopping is a loathsome experience in Bernies opinion but its one Serena loves and on most days, she’s able to talk her way out of joining. She figures its about time she humoured her partner and tagged along to carry bags and sing her praise when the brunette tries on top after top. 

They’re in one of those places that even smells too expensive. Yes, they’ve got the money. Between the two of them Serena could buy any piece she’d like but she still feels wholly out of place, like it’d be a crime to reach out and touch the fabric with her calloused hands. So she lingers back as her girlfriend rifles through jumpers and silk scarves and wool coats. She’s stuck in thoughts of her own, what they’ll have for dinner and how much goddamn longer will she have to wait, when Bernie turns and catches Serenas gaze. 

Only its not directed toward her. 

Fingering a silk top at the rack next to Serena is a leggy blonde thing. Words a person could use to describe Bernie only this womans blonde clearly cost her hundreds of dollars, the makeup smoothed across her perfectly angular face is front cover perfect and her outfit, a flecked grey pencil skirt and impeccable silk red top, paired with mile high black stilettos, is something Bernie could only roll her eyes at. And Serena is drinking it all in with one long, sweeping look of unbridled appreciation. 

Bernie can’t quite help but clear her throat, as if she’s intruded on something that she needs to put an end to even though Serena is much too far away to hear. She looks down at herself and takes in her black trainers, the olive green, clingy joggers that Serena had bought her for running and her simple black coat. She swallows down the desire to look next to her where there is a mirror, knowing she’ll only be gravely disappointed in the hair pulled back, the makeup she isn’t wearing and the age she forgets adorns her face. When she looks back up the blonde is gone and Serena is stacking another top on the pile in her arms. 

Over tea Serena senses that something is off.

“Keep you out too long, darling?” She can’t help her slight teasing smile. 

“Hm?”

Her dark brows knit together then, “something seems… off.”

“Oh, just tired.”

“Is your back alright?”

“Yes, I’m just looking forward to getting home.”

Serena pulls a face. She’s not buying this. She may hate shopping but Bernie, used to 24 hours days, uncomfortable situations and being away from home for weeks at a time, she never asks to go home. Willingly and happily obliges, yes. But this, this isn’t right.

“Well somethings the matter.”

“Serena, no.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” she says, looking to her hands, “but I know you’re lying.”

Bernie sighs then, long and hard in surrender. “I just - I wonder sometimes. If maybe you would’ve liked to-” her words trail then, leaving Serena hanging on the edge.

“Liked to what?”

“Experience,” Bernie exhales then, looking to her food, “another woman.”

Serena nearly spits out her shiraz. But Bernie is there with an earnest, curious look and she sees that she’s serious.

“Where is this coming from?”

“Nowhere.”

“Berenice.”

“Serena.”

“Oh, out with it!”

Bernie clears her throat and looks around to see if anyone heard Serenas voice reach just a pitch too high. No one seems to be looking. 

“There was a woman at the shop today and I noticed you looking. I don’t care,” and Serena believes her when she says it, “and I don’t blame you, she was well fit. But she was just- nothing like I am. And you’ve never had that.”

Serena scoffs, she can’t help it. It’s not that she doesn’t want her partner to feel heard and understood, it’s just that this? This is absurd. 

“I have _exactly_ what I want.”

Bernies eyes flicker up then, a little wide, a little surprised by the conviction in her loves voice. She manages not much more than a nod. 

“Bernie, really,” she reaches a hand across and the blonde gives her own, “we all look sometimes. We’re human. But for every look I’ve ever given someone else, I’ve given you 20,” she lowers her voice then, “if you could see what I see when I look at you. Especially in those tight joggers, then you would understand. I never have and never will need another woman.” 

The brush that creeps up Bernies cheeks and settles under her eyes and over her collar bones is enough to tell Serena she’s breaking through, at least that her girlfriend is hearing her but she lets it pass anyways, quiet and gentle, “I just wish you would believe me.”

“I do.”

And that night as the blonde makes small, needy sounds under the hands and mouth of her partner, she does believe.

**Author's Note:**

> Believe it or not, this is my first Holby City fiction. But I'm obsessed with this relationship and would love to write more. Especially after the devastating loss of this pairing, I think we all need it. So let me know what you think and give me your suggestions!


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